


Illusions

by ArcadiosV (Mariannie)



Series: The Archives [9]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Vomiting, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29062512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariannie/pseuds/ArcadiosV
Summary: Horatio had been camping on Verne's couch for a while.[My spin on the "what's in the shadows" prompt]
Series: The Archives [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063736
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Illusions

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by triangle-attack on tumblr.
> 
> I am aware there is little context to who Horatio actually is, the gaps will eventually be filled up.   
> Patience :D

Verne jolted awake when he heard something being knocked over in the living area, followed by what sounded like a whimper and a violent dry heave. He was out of the bed and down the stairs in an instant, skipped the last five steps and stumbled into the room. 

Horatio was half sitting up, half leaning over the couch, looking absolutely miserable even in the dark. 

Verne turned up the lights, almost wished he didn’t. The other mesmer looked even worse now. Petals hanging with dehydration, their usual vibrant colors dull and grey. 

“Horatio…” Verne whispered, tried not to startle him. Horatio jumped anyway, eyes wide in surprise, face flushed. Verne didn’t know much about the illnesses sylvari could get burdened with, and he doubted the humans in Divinity’s Reach knew much about them either. Still, he needed to do something.

When he turned to get water, the dry heaves continued, and Horatio didn’t seem to take note of him for the time being. 

Verne returned with a mug of water, placed it on the small side table and put a bucket on the floor. If he could save this carpet from any sort of unsightly half digested food, he would do it. It would make the cleanup a lot easier too.

He settled down next to the other. Horatio looked utterly terrified, hand clenched into the upholstery of the couch he had been sleeping on for weeks now. His whole story of how he ended up here had been hard to believe at first. But the chronomancer knew so many things he couldn’t possibly have known if he hadn’t witnessed them. 

And Verne had eventually accepted the fact that he had somehow managed to travel into the past.

A flash of a spell made Verne flinch. Horatio groaned against it, obviously involuntarily casting something or other. Verne didn’t know what it was until he noticed dark shadows creeping from the corners of the room. An illusion. He sighed and rolled his eyes and ignored the horrifying shapes of gigantic spiders and other terrifying things.

Horatio however, too caught in his misery, did not catch on that he had cast the spell and that none of this had been real. He moved backwards as far as the couch would let him, whining in terror.

“Horatio, it’s an illusion.” Verne tried, but the mesmer didn’t listen to him. 

“No-” He hissed instead as the shadows inched closer to him. “Go away-” 

His eyes were impossibly wide and Verne sighed. “Close your eyes.”

“But-”

“I’m here. They won’t harm you.”

Horatio needed a moment to comply, then pressed his eyes shut against the horror and Verne pulled him into a tight embrace, feeling the heat radiate off of him. A pained whimper escaped the other mesmer. He was trembling, freezing. Verne grabbed the woolen blanket and pulled it back over his shoulders.

Horatio clung to him, still not quite seeming to realize the whole situation. It was fine for now.

The illusion eventually dispersed and Verne urged him on to drink some water. The wilted petals were worrying. Who knew how long he had avoided actually taking care of himself. Verne wasn’t the best example, and still.

Horatio seemed to realize how thirsty he was, but instead just proceeded to make himself sick.

“Slow down, you’re just going to-”

His words got caught as Horatio doubled over, heaving the previous meal into the bucket. Verne sighed, steadying the other, unfazed by the whole ordeal. Horatio coughed and whined against it, and Verne ran a hand over his back.

“I’m sorry-” Horatio apologized, and Verne shook his head. 

“It’s fine. You did nothing wrong.”

“But-”

“It’s not your fault you got sick.”

Horatio grunted, slowly retreated back into the cushions and blankets. “...You woke up because of me.”

Verne snorted. “The drop of a pin can wake me up, don’t worry about it.”

“But…”

A chuckle escaped Verne. “Stop it. Get some sleep, I’ll clean this up.”

“The spell… I… I’m sorry-” Horatio muttered as he closed his eyes and struggled to find a comfortable position to rest in.

“Don’t worry about it.” Verne smiled, gave his shoulder a gentle pat, and pulled the blanket around him before he stood to clean the mess.

When he came back Horatio was still staring at the opposite wall, a grimace on his face that suggested he was brooding over something.

“Think you can walk?” Verne asked, amused by Horatio’s surprised face.

“I…don’t think I want to walk anywhere.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to carry you up the stairs.”

“The stairs?” Horatio repeated in confusion. “Why?”

“To sleep in a real bed” Verne sighed. “I’ve slept on that couch enough to know it’s not very comfortable.”

Horatio grunted. “But that’s your bed.”

“Everything in this house belongs to me. Your point?”

The chronomancer sighed and slowly sat up. “…where do you sleep?”

“The couch?”

“Hrm.”

Still, despite the protest, Horatio managed to get to unsteady feet, the thought of sleeping on something that wasn’t as hard and uncomfortable, somewhat intriguing. Verne was hovering close as they made it up the stairs, ready to catch him should he lose his footing. 

Horatio hadn’t been up here in this timeline. It looked slightly different than he remembered, the furniture had different positions, the colors were different. And still, despite never having been in this version of the house, it still felt like home.

The lingering warmth of Verne in the sheets was comforting, the barely notable scent of lavender somewhat calming his racing mind. He hadn’t felt this bad in a long time, but even then Verne had been there to take care of him. Not this Verne, and still. In his feverish haze, the memories overlapped and blended into each other.

The ashen face of the man who had loved him in a different time, teal eyes filled with concern. Horatio could only stare. It was unfair. First Verne had been taken from him, and now he was back, but the price was their relationship. This Verne had never met him before. Horatio wasn’t even supposed to exist yet.

“Stop brooding. Sleep.” Verne chuckled.

“Hrm.”

“I mean it.”

Horatio opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and buried his face in the pillow. Verne frowned. 

“What?”

“Nothing…” Horatio mumbled into the pillow.

“It’s still baffling to me how you can be so bad at lying. You’re a mesmer. That’s all we do.”

“No, that’s illusions. It’s different.” Horatio continued to mumble into the pillow.

“Same difference. We’re tricking people into believing things that aren’t there.”

“Hrm.”

“Stop with the grunting.” Verne sighed. “You wanted to ask me something, what is it?”

A moment of silence followed, but Verne could see Horatio trying to build up the courage to ask what he was going to.

“…You… play the lute… right?” It was barely audible in the pillow and Verne nearly missed it.

“Is there anything you don’t know about me?”

Horatio grunted again. “Only if you dropped it before I met you in my timeline.”

“Fine…” Verne shook his head as he stood to get the instrument. 

Once he had unearthed it from a stack of paper and notes he settled down on the edge of the bed and started tuning it. “If you tell anyone about this I will haunt you in your dreams.”

“You already do.” Horatio muttered. “No point.”

Verne rolled his eyes, gently started strumming. Horatio visibly relaxed at the sound and Verne tilted his head in surprise. 

“I’m not singing.”

“You’re horrible at singing, please don’t.” Horatio whispered with a barely hidden smirk. 

“Of course you would know.” Verne snorted.

“…Thank you.”

“For not singing?”

Horatio sighed. “…Yes. But also… for this.”

A laugh escaped Verne. “I think I understand it now.”

“Understand what?”

“Why this other version of me liked you.”

Horatio froze, held his breath for a moment. “…Oh.”


End file.
